Memories in the Air

I can't live without air. 

Seriously.

That automatic pull that the lungs take,

that convert within themselves,

without us even thinking or knowing. 

That creation of taking in and out what is around. 

 

How we hold that air within ourselves during those moments.

Those moments that I wish I could say I can't live without, 

but know I probably can. 

 

When suddenly the air is taken away from us, 

in a breathless sort of delight, 

that leaves us gasping,

sometimes wanting more,

other times wishing to be struck dumb again. 

 

I can't live without air. 

Its life. 

It helps create moments within its self, 

and has always provided a way to surround me, 

when I most needed it. 

How air seemed to fill all those best memories.

When I was out of breath from that race, 

gasping, yet holding a trophy.

When he stole that first kiss, 

a sudden stillness of a different breath upon mine. 

Of a different air being mixed among the two, 

and the silent tension within. 

When I settled upon that good book,

and curled up in the chair, 

my breathing slowly growing steady and calm. 

Deep and easy. 

When I sang at the top of my lungs, 

wanting to push that high note to Bohemian Folk Rhapsody,

and killing it. 

I thought,

I can reach it

Just push more air. 

 

I can't live without air. 

It seems to be with me in the good and the bad, 

and it seems to make up those moments,

that I claim that I could live without, 

yet still look back on. 

With the breath of fresh air upon my lips, 

and the deepness in my lungs. 

Taking a deep breath,

I reach for air. 

Fresh, Sweet, Air. 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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